


Just You And Me

by simmerandcry



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/M, One Shot, Romance, Song fic, no y/n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26624536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simmerandcry/pseuds/simmerandcry
Summary: Steve Rogers has a bad habit of finding himself at your door, again and again. But will you let him in?Inspired by 'The Last Time' by Taylor Swift ft. Gary Lightbody
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90





	Just You And Me

**Author's Note:**

> I have been in a very Steve Rogers place lately (errr a Chris Evans place??? errrrror message) so while distracting myself from my long Bucky/OC/Steve fic... this happened.
> 
> I guess this takes place in that happy little dream world where all The Avengers just work together. Timeline not relevant but not MCU compliant, really.
> 
> This is my first attempt at a one-shot and I am concluding I don't know how to write something short. But I reigned it in as best as I could here. This is also my first attempt at a 'reader' POV. I wanted a slow build of an actual relationship with some angst built in. Let me know what you think!
> 
> [Also, as a big T.Swift fan (no shame), I stand by the fact that 'The Last Time' walked so 'Exile' could run.]

Steve didn’t spend a lot of time on the administration floors of Stark Tower. He knew they were there, just a few floors up from street level. But for the most part, things were just handled and while sometimes he had appearances to make or questions with the legal team, people usually came to him.

Frankly, he was just a busy man. But when he and Bucky were both scheduled to meet with someone new from the PR team, he had to make the time. Admittedly, he welcomed the reprieve from mission planning and report writing.

“Should be just around the corner here, I think,” Bucky murmured, looking down at his phone then back up towards the office doors. “Here.” He pointed a metal finger towards the glass door.

Steve didn’t realize then, as he glanced through the glass door, that his life was about to change. 

That his _heart_ was about to change.

It had just been over a month since you had been working this new gig - _Content Writer and Copyright Specialist_ \- for the Stark Industries Public Relations team. It had been a whirlwind, to say the least. You knew The Avengers, _everyone knew The Avengers_ , but you didn’t realize the extensive branding and marketing plans the team had been weaving into every piece of information that was available to the public.

And by the end of your first week, your to-do list had been grand. That particular afternoon was meetings with The Avengers themselves, broken down into pairs to save time. Just an hour of time to go over potential news articles, fact checking necessities, ideas for blog posts - anything you could write that might include their names and stories to spin positivity for the brand.

It was a big task but you were up for the challenge.

You did appreciate the work upgrade - the paycheck was way bigger than what you made at your last job and having your own office was a huge bonus. 

An office you even got to _decorate_.

You had taken a quick mental break after your rapid-fire lunch meeting with Pepper Potts, leaving your heels under your desk and wheeled your chair towards the left wall, framed vintage movie poster in your hands.

“I’m pretty sure that is against the Health and Safety regulations.” The voice coming from the door startled you as you teetered on your desk chair, holding a breath as you turned your head over your shoulder.

There stood Captain America himself, dressed in plain slacks and a button up. The blue of his eyes radiated even from ten feet away, reflecting off the cotton blue shirt. You were so momentarily caught up in _him_ that you didn’t realize Sergeant Barnes had come towards you, reaching to grab the poster and finishing the job of hanging it off the hook stuck in the wall.

“Thank you,” you said quickly, taking his hand as you stepped off the chair. The introductions were quick to follow as you collected yourself, motioning for them to sit in the plush chairs across from your desk. You returned to your own chair, taking a quick sip of water before gathering your thoughts.

“ _His Girl Friday_ , huh?” Steve jumped in to start, allowing you a second of relief to get sorted. You appreciated that immediately - how he could read you so well in just a second was daunting but the gesture was kind. He reached his hand over and swatted Bucky on the chest.

“I know how you feel about Cary Grant,” Bucky replied with a grin, flitting his eyes over towards the poster now hanging across from you all. “Glad people these days still appreciate the classics.”

“My grandfather owned one of the bijous in Queens,” you answered a question before they could ask. “I’ve been trained on the classics.”

Meeting with these two - _the fossils,_ as Tony might describe - was easy. So easy. They were friendly and you were patient as you explained your communication style and just what you had been tasked to do. 

It was just a brief moment that pushed Steve over the edge - from polite and interested in making acquaintance with a new coworker to _royally screwed._ Your laugh echoed through the room and you moved to take your glasses off, dropping them onto the desk as you pushed your hair back. It was when you paused, face dropping into a stoic frown. For a second, both Steve and Bucky worried they had said something wrong, offending such a pretty dame like yourself.

Then, you spoke up again: “Okay. But tell me the truth - I read your files and a certain tell-all biography. And it may be unprofessional but Captain America, I have one question for you: how did it feel to punch Hitler in the face so many times?”

Bucky nearly doubled over at your bold ask and your uncanny ability to poke fun at Steve.

It was the fact that you didn’t waiver - you weren’t apologetic or remorseful at the brazen joke, stumbling over excuses in case you had offended Steve.

No, you were certain and brave.

That was it.

Steve was grateful he had walked through your office door that day.

* * *

Somehow, a friendship blossomed between you and Steve. It had been slow to start - a very casual invitation for a classic movie night at a theatre in Midtown with Bucky escalated into a regular group outing. Sometimes it was just you, Steve and Bucky. Other times, Sam tagged along. Or Moira from the finance department, your lunch time confidant. 

Then, it moved to nights in. 

It was one particular Friday night that things shifted for you. You hadn’t been having the best week. In fact, it had been day after day of media fires you were tasked with helping put out. Whether that was rewriting a press release or crafting a blog article or arranging an interview with The Times - you were tired and feeling uncertain it was all worth it.

The usual Friday night movie night had been paused - mainly because both Steve and Bucky were off continent on a mission. While you had been looking forward to it, you were grateful for the evening alone. 

Just as you poured your second class of reisling, flopping down onto your couch to wait for the next episode of whatever HGTV show you were aimlessly binging to start, you heard a knock at the door. You hesitated, leaving your glass on the coffee table and shuffling towards the repeated knocking noise.

When you opened it, you didn’t expect to see Steve standing there, holding a large brown bag full of Thai takeout from your preferred location (it had been a contested debate between you both).

“Steve, hi,” you said quickly, suddenly very aware you were dressed in old plaid pajama pants and a plain black pullover. “You’re back.” That was an obvious statement. He was clearly post-mission, freshly showered, clean casual clothes and the remains of a healing scar on his jaw. “We kind of cancelled movie night.”

You didn’t mean to disappoint him, but it was evident he was feeling suddenly out of place. “Oh. Sorry. I just.. We got back and.. I had been looking forward to..”

You shook your head and opened the door wider, inviting him in. “Honestly, I’m happy to see you. Movie night can continue.” You smiled. “It’ll just be you and me, though. Hope you don’t mind.”

He smiled, cheeks tinting pink. “Just you and me.” 

It turned out, the movie could wait. Before you realized it, you were both just _unloading_ . Steve explained how the mission had gone sideways and how frustrated things ended up. You took the time to rant about your busy week, carefully avoiding certain expletives but appreciating how he _listened_. 

Steve stuck his fork into his takeout container, a look of relief on his face. “Thank you for this.”

“You brought the food, big guy,” you replied with a smirk, nudging his knee under your coffee table. You were both sitting on the floor, using it as your dining table instead. 

He laughed, tilting his head back for a moment. “I mean for the company. And for listening, just listening. Sometimes when we all get back from these big missions.. there’s no time to be frustrated. It’s pointed fingers and solutions.”

“I get it. It’s nice to have someone outside your direct circle to let it all out.” You nodded, leaning forward to prop your chin up on your hand. “It’s nice to have each other like this.” 

Your friendship with Steve was valuable. So valuable you had been swallowing your feelings for a long time. There was a reason you kept insisting Sam or Bucky or Moira attend movie nights, too. Because being alone like this with Steve was too easy. 

If you didn’t stop yourself, you were bound to fall hard. 

Steve’s eyes sparkled as he gazed back at you. “Hey, how’s the General?” He looked around the room for your tabby cat. “Did you get him checked out?”

Your jaw dropped open for a quick second, surprised Steve had remembered your long forgotten concerns about your pet. The last time you had seen Steve, you had mentioned he was acting out of character. 

“The vet gave General Whiskers a perfect bill of health,” you filled him in. “He blamed it all on the full moon. I’m sure he’s sprawled out on my bed having yet another nap.”

Steve laughed and nodded, expressing how relieved he was for you. 

You loved when Steve laughed - really laughed. His eyes crinkled and his smile lit up his face. 

As you two shifted to sit on the couch, thighs almost touching as he pulled a blanket over your laps, you sighed. 

You were definitely falling. 

* * *

Who knew something as minuscule as an appendix could create pain that radiated through you - enough to cause you to collapse at work?

You should have known it wasn’t just bad period cramps. 

When you woke up in a hospital room, you could hardly remember the former 24 hours of your life. You adjusted soon enough - drawing your eyes around the room where arrangements of flowers and small tokens of well wishes were scattered. A nurse appeared, filling you in on what happened and adjusting your IV. 

You had another day of observation ahead before you could be discharged. When she handed you your phone, you were surprised to see a few panicked messages from Steve, starting with concern about your absence from the weekly marketing meeting to missing your lunch date.

And then, before you could gather the energy to reply, there was a rapping at your door. 

There he stood, dressed in his leather jacket you had grown to love, concerned eyes scanning over you as he let himself in. 

“Sweetheart,” Steve said softly, pausing at the foot of your bed. 

One date - you had now gone on one unofficial date to a Stark cocktail party yet Steve already had this ability to wash over you, consume you, with his soft stare. After months of build up, you two fell into place and it all made perfect sense. 

Your heart swelled at his show of concern, reaching your hand out to find his. “Do I look ten ounces lighter?” 

Your appendix was useless, anyway. 

Your lungs still worked and so did your heart. You had no doubt about that - considering how loudly it was thumping as Steve took your hand and leaned down to press a kiss to the back of it. 

“You look rough,” he finally answered, smirking playfully. “But I’m so happy to see you’re okay.”

Somehow, Steve situated himself beside you in the bed, with you tucked under his arm as you both stared at the TV screen across the wall. You equally hated and loved the intimacy of it - Steve felt like a protective shield, keeping you safe. But you couldn’t help but remind yourself that you were in an ugly hospital gown, colour barely returning to your face and in desperate need of a shower. 

Steve didn’t seem to mind any of that. He stayed until a nurse kicked him out and was at your door again the next morning, ready to get you home safely. 

* * *

It was New Years Eve and without even speaking, you and Steve both decided it was the best plan of action to bail during the countdown. It would save you both from the awkward small talk of resolutions and the future and new starts. 

You had been doing your best to remain calm as people, _strangers,_ asked questions about your relationship with Captain America: about your future together, about next steps, about how it felt to watch him run off into danger. 

You had quickly understood why Steve had been so hesitant about going public. 

Nonetheless, you dismissed them all. Steve’s hand was at the small of your back, leading you out towards a waiting taxi. You were both Brooklyn bound and ready to leave the party in the past. 

All you wanted was Steve - not Captain America, not publicity questions and photo ops. 

Only Steve. 

It was you who pounced first - fiery and bothered from the champagne fountain you were drawn to all evening. The minute the cab door shut, you leaned across the seat and found Steve’s lips. He was hesitant at first, eyes darting towards the front seat as the driver laughed. 

“Oh he’s seen it all, babe,” you whispered, trailing your hand up Steve’s thigh. “I just want a kiss.”

Steve laughed your name, like it was the most beautiful thing in the world. “We both know you want more than that.” He paused and leaned in closer. “Be patient and I’ll make it worth the wait, doll.”

By the time you were walking down your hallway, Steve was trailing behind you and not so innocently finding his way under your skirt. Before you could get your keys out, he had you pressed up against your door. His lips slid down your neck, leaving wet kisses and bite marks along the way. Whispering illicit things, detailing his appreciation for you and your body. 

You lifted one leg up, curling around his hips and pulling him even closer. 

You both knew your bed was only one door and twenty feet away but you were ravenous. 

As you tugged at his hair, his breath hitched. “Fuck, baby. I need you.” He breathed you in. Steady. “I love you.”

You wanted to pretend you didn’t hear it.

You wanted to let it escape into the night. 

But instead you clutched at his shoulders, pressing your hips against his. 

“I love you, too.”

* * *

You knew early on that any plans you made with Steve, big or small, would always be tentative. Even if he had just come back from a three week mission, another emergency could pop up at any time.

It was an adjustment for you - being prepared for disappointment.

Missing Friday movie nights was manageable. When he wasn’t there at the finish line after your latest race, it had stung but once you realized he was off helping with hurricane recovery, you were understanding.

Slowly, as your relationship moved forward, the waves of disappointment felt bigger and bigger.

He had told you, so long ago, that _his job was important._ You were important,too, he had insisted. But so was his job. He owed it to the people, to the greater good, to help whenever he could.

Your first fight happened when he left without warning. You had raced up to the roof, wanting to see him and say goodbye before he got on the jet. There had been an alarm ringing throughout the tower, indicating all hands on deck as The Avengers loaded out. But you had only gotten up there in time to see him walk onto the jet and disappear.

The apology followed when he came back and you believed him, the remorse heavy on his face.

You had worked out a system since then - he always had to say goodbye, even if it was just a text message.

So when he had to leave in a hurry the night you were supposed to introduce him to your parents, you couldn’t even bear to feel angry. It was just.. disappointment, again.

Monday morning, you were slumped down in your chair proofreading off your tablet.

There was a knock that echoed off your glass door and you pulled your eyes up to see Steve standing there, bouquet of flowers in hand.

You couldn’t help but light up. All weekend you had followed the news about how The Avengers had defeated a rebel group is Botswana - saving multiple villages from losing their homes and lives. It was being celebrated globally. That’s what made it so hard to be mad at your boyfriend, even when he missed important moments like that dinner - look what he was doing: _saving the world._

“Hey you,” Steve said with a sheepish smile as he walked in. You climbed off your chair and rushed towards him, wrapping your hands around his waist as his free hand hugged you close. “I’m so sorry I -

“Steve,” you cut him off. “It’s okay.”

He sighed, whispering your name as he cradled your head to his chest. “It’s not. I was really looking forward to meeting your mom and step-dad.”

“Babe.” You pulled away, looking up to his straight face. “They understood. _I understand._ ”

He took in a sharp breath. He knew you were disappointed. But he also knew it wasn’t worth the argument.

You took his hand, guiding him to sit in one of the chairs across from your desk as you stood in front of him. The flowers rested on your desk.

“I promise it won’t always be like this,” he said quickly, pulling you to stand between his legs. His hands rested on your waist. “There’s just… a lot going on with the team right now.”

You knew that. You understood. Yet, it still stung.

You pushed it all back - filing it away deep in the recesses of your mind. This was Steve - _your Steve_ \- the one who could make you smile like no other, the one who knew you why you were upset before you figured it out yourself, he was your other half. 

“Can I make it up to you? Dinner tonight? I’ll cook.”

“That’s supposed to be a kind gesture? Did you forget about the meatball tragedy?”

Steve laughed, pulling you in close to sit on his lap. “I thought we agreed not to talk about that again, sweetheart.”

* * *

You were sick and tired of crying.

It was your one-year anniversary and you were sitting at home, sobbing. You were trying so hard not to but the minute Sam had called you that evening, casting you an apology on Steve’s behalf, you were done. 

It was just after midnight when you heard the knocking at your door. You pulled yourself up from the nest of blankets you were resting on, glancing at your phone to see a message from Steve. That he was on his way over. That he was sorry.

You figured he was buying apologies in bulk now.

You tore the door open to see him standing there just like all the times before. There was a small gift bag hanging in his hand. He looked… clean, put together, ready to unleash his latest explanation of his absence.

You crossed your arms, not even willing to greet him. A quiet mewl came from down the hall as General Whiskers darted down towards your bedroom, as if to seek refuge.

“Sweetheart, I’m s-

“I’m not doing this tonight, Steve.” 

Your name rolled off his lips with urgency. “It was an emergency. I had to..” He trailed off, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His eyes darted over your shoulder, as if to request you move your impending argument inside. 

You stood strong in the doorway.

“I just..” You trailed off, taking a deep breath. “Will I ever be at the top of your list, Steve? Honestly. I want you to tell me the truth. Will there ever be a time where you think of me before you think of _the mission_?” It was a selfish question but you were growing tired of feeling like second place, an afterthought.

“You know I can’t..” Steve huffed, chewing on his lip for a moment of pause. “That’s not fair. You know that’s not fair.”

“Well, it’s also not fair that I showed up at the restaurant where _you_ made the reservations and sat alone while your phone went unanswered. It’s not fair that I had to call and cancel the apartment viewing in your old neighbourhood - for the place we can’t afford but you thought we could make it work. It’s not fair that my _boyfriend_ leaves without hardly a minute of warning and I’m supposed to just be okay with it.”

“You knew who I was, what I did before we started this.” He was frustrated. Apparently this wasn’t how he imagined this would play out. 

“So that’s it? I’m just supposed to play along and be here waiting for you every time you come back. Do I just forget how _this feels_ ” You pointed to your chest, to your heart. “And turn it back on when you walk through the door?”

“Damnit, I don’t want to fight.” He shoved the small bag towards you. “I can’t just ignore the call when I’m needed on a mission.”

You stared at his hand, at the bag, then looked back at him. “Here’s the thing, Steve. Sometimes.. I don’t.. Are you really needed on every mission? Because today, when Sam called me, he said you decided to go. As if you had a choice and you went ahead anyway, even though we were supposed to have dinner to celebrate tonight. And now you show up well past midnight, having clearly taken your time to come and try and apologize. So tell me, do I have it wrong?”

“They needed me,” he said quietly, his voice level. “You think I just..”

“Steve, _I need you_. Me. Standing right here. The woman you are supposed to love.”

“Supposed to? Sweetheart, please.”

“I can’t do this again. I can’t.” You shook your head, pushing his hands away as you stepped back into your apartment. “This is the last time, Steve. We’re.. 

“You’re not even willing to fight for us?” His tone was growing, head shaking back and forth rapidly.

“I can’t put you - _put this_ \- at the top of _my_ list if you’re not even willing to consider doing the same, Steve.”

You could see him faltering. His lip quivered. “You don’t.. You’re breaking my heart, doll.”

You turned and closed the door swiftly, sinking to the floor as your heartache took over. 

* * *

You were both quiet as you climbed the stairs to your apartment. You were concentrating - concentrating hard - on staying upright with each shaky step.

If you had known this was how your night was going to end - with Steve Rogers himself chauffeuring you home - you would not have finished off that bottle of white wine on the table. Or the bottle at Nat’s table. Or the two vodka sodas you sucked back before Sam narrowed in on you at the bar.

The one thing you were going to miss about Stark Industries events was the flow of free alcohol.

You had insisted on taking a taxi home but Steve _insisted_ on driving you.

“We’re both going to Brooklyn,” he had said with a shrug, ensuring Sam he’d walk you to your door. “Aren’t we trying to be friends?”

When you got to the landing for your floor, you laughed when you thought back to his words.

“Friends. Yeah, right.” You muttered to yourself, taking a few steps ahead of him to save from his comforting, protective hand on the small of your back.

“Did you say something?” He asked. It was innocent in tone but you knew damn well he had heard your scoff.

Your hallway seemed so long all of a sudden. Your heels echoed against the floor. You knew Steve was watching you from a few steps behind - likely scanning his eyes across your backside, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest as he took in how your dress hugged the curves of your body. 

You sighed to yourself, pausing to push your hair over to one side of your shoulders. 

_Steve loved when you wore your hair down._

You used to do it on purpose, play with the long locks as you flirted across the room, eyes locked. Now, you had done it out of spite.

“Well, this is me.” Your voice came out bold, loud. Your words stood confident on their own. “But you know that, of course.” 

_Of course._

Even though you had broken up months ago, it didn’t all just go away. 

The memories didn’t disappear.

_The love - your love - it didn’t ..._

Once you had fished your keys out of your handbag, you focused hard on your doorknob instead of at him. He was there - beside you, watching carefully to ensure you didn’t fall over. Of course he was going to make sure you were _inside_ and safe. As you slid the keys into the mechanism, you felt his hand grab your elbow.

He said your name softly, calling for you to finally turn and _look at him_. Your heart hurt.

“Pepper told me you got a new job,” Steve said as your eyes met. “Were you even going to tell me you were leaving?”

You were way too drunk to have this conversation. Yet, it was giving you all the courage you needed to express your honesty. You swallowed hard, abandoning your keys and turning to face him directly.

“I wasn’t aware I had to give you mission reports about my life, Captain.” Your eyes closed for a brief second, watching his face pinch in anguish as your bitter words floated to his ears. “That’s not how this works.”

His chest grew as he took in a long breath, filling his lungs with hope. “I want to be friends. Why can’t we -

“Steve.” You held up your hand and slowly it landed on his chest. It was warm. His heart was warm. “There are… pieces of you in every single second of every single day. I can’t move on if I’m constantly having to see my ex-boyfriend’s name and _face_ in my day to day work.” You hoped your words were coming out coherently.

He sighed, deep. The kind that left your lungs empty. “Why do you need to move on? Why can’t we just try again?” His right hand reached up and grabbed yours as it rested on his chest. He squeezed gently. “I don’t know how else to explain how sorry I am - I wish I hadn’t gone on that mission and missed our -

“Steve, please. It wasn’t just that. You _know_ it wasn’t just that.” You laughed, mainly to yourself. “I’m sorry but I can’t do _friends_ , I can’t do us. That’s not..” You took a deep breath, uncertain if your dizziness was an emotional rush or the wine fighting back. “You look so good tonight - dressed in your best apologies.”

“Doll. Please.” He chased after your hand as you tried to pull it away. He repeated your name, in that _soft_ Steve sort of way.

You hated that.

It nearly always worked.

“We both said -

“Steve, we both said the truth.” You took another breath, returning your hand to the doorknob and turning away from him. “Thanks for making sure I got home safely.”

“Sweetheart - 

“Captain.” You cut him off, eyes closed again. You raised a hand to your forehead, giving him a dramatic salute as you pushed your door open. “You and me.. We had it wrong, okay?” 

Steve grumbled in disagreement, his hand reaching out for your shoulder before you could disappear inside. “This can’t be the end.”

Your voice hitched, pulling away from his hand. “We’re well past the end, Stevie.” 

* * *

When you heard the knock at your door, you assumed it was just Mrs. Webster coming over with that jar of homemade salsa she promised you. That very morning as you two ran into each other at the mailbox, she insisted she’d be by that evening. Though, you didn’t take her for such a night owl considering it was already after eleven.

“Just a second!” You called out to the door as the knock repeated. Your attempt at putting on your slippers failed you and you conceded the few moments of cold toes would be fine and your blanket on the couch would warm you back up soon enough. 

When you pulled the door open, it wasn’t Mrs. Webster.

“St-steve.” You hated that a microsecond of his presence, unyielding as he stood in front of you, made your voice falter. Before you could continue, you swept your eyes over him. It was a Saturday night and while there wasn’t a common schedule for missions, you were surprised to see him so disheveled and _there, outside your door_.

You remembered Steve like this - fresh from a mission. As you inhaled sharply, you could still smell the normal post-mission scent lingering on him - jet fuel, gun powder, sweat. As you met his gaze though, it was clear something… something was off. The last few times you had run into him, he had been guarded. Even though you never asked, Sam would give you casual updates as he peppered Steve’s name into your conversations.

Half a smile was fading off of Steve’s jaw, a facade you would see right through anyway. This moment, Steve at your door - maybe he needed an escape, maybe he wanted to see you - it was a hard memory of what used to be. It hurt - _a lot more than you expected_ \- and you wanted to close the door right in his face.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

“What are you doing here?” You remained collected, doing your best to rid your face of any emotion. He could read you like a book - he always had been able to. It bothered the shit out of you, actually. 

You watched as he swallowed hard, raising a hand to rub his neck. 

He opened his mouth, sliding his tongue across his bottom lip as if to bide his time as he collected his thoughts.

“Uh, I.. I actually don’t know. I’m not sure why..” Steve trailed off, closing his eyes tightly. He was in pain, you could tell. Your eyes flitted from his face - from his strong jaw, still dirtied with leftover mission, down across his broad chest. His uniform, though soiled with something, was not torn. He stood strong under the bright fluorescents of your hallway, indicating no limp or structural injury.

You weren’t sure what compelled you to grab for his hand - his soft, quiet reserve or your unrelenting need to feed the monster in your mind with _pain and suffering_ \- but you pulled him through the threshold of your doorway and let him in.

You led him silently down the hallway, flicking on the lights in your bathroom and nudging him to sit on your toilet seat while you grabbed a washcloth. You glimpsed at yourself in the mirror as you turned on the water, hair tossed in a bun and dressed in some old t-shirt from a charity 5k you had run years ago. To your right, you heard a soft whisper come from Steve as he reached his hand down to greet your nosey cat. 

“Nice to see you too, General.” Steve laughed as the tabby brushed against his leg then promptly left the room again.

You turned to Steve with the washcloth in your hand, grateful that he closed his eyes as your hand reached for his chin. You held him, gently, softly wiping away the grime and residue from his face. He had a small cut near his hairline and you let out a sad hum as you brushed against it.

You worked silently, only the sound of your breath and his echoing through your small bathroom.

You remembered, for a brief second, previous moments like this happening the same way, in the same room. Steve holding your hair back when you drank too much. You complaining when he took up too much of the mirror as you stood side by side brushing your teeth before bed. Steve pulling down your shower curtain when things got a touch too handsy in the shower one morning..

“Bucky took a bullet for me.” Steve’s words were heavy as they left his lips. He finally opened his eyes to meet yours, his blues growing wide as he continued. “He’s going to be okay. Thought it hit his heart, but it..” His eyes closed again. “There was so much blood.” He took a long breath, as if his lungs were running out of air. “Held his hand the whole time we flew back. And the minute we touched down, the med team was rushing for him and you know what he says?” Steve laughed, though his face remained flat. “He said ‘ _smarten up, jerk_ ’..”

You dabbed at Steve’s cut, which was somehow already healing enough to not need any other cover. 

“I’m glad he’s okay,” you finally replied, taking a step back to place enough distance as you could between yourself and Steve. “He’s always been resilient for an elderly man.”

Steve shifted from his position on the toilet seat, tearing off his gloves and looking up at you.

“But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here, Steve.” You folded your arms across your chest. An attempt at guarding yourself, your heart. 

You hadn’t seen him in months. Nearly half a year. You had long departed from your role at Stark Industries and had firmly left that life behind. You left Steve and your memories behind. The only person you still kept in touch with was Sam - mainly because the animal group you volunteered with partnered with the VA often. Sam had quickly become one of your closest friends and a shoulder to cry on after one too many vodka sodas.

“I’m not sure how I got here,” Steve’s voice dropped down low again, quiet and unsure. He whispered your name - it was foreign on his lips and it was foreign to your ears. “I got on my bike and it just led me right here.”

You couldn’t do this _again_.

“Steve.”

“I’m so sorry, doll.” 

“I can’t do this again.”

“What can I do? How can I fix this?”

Your lip trembled but you were determined not to cry. _Not again_. It had been so long since you had cried over Steve - his charming smile, his polite protectiveness, his repetitive apologies reverberating through your head again and again. You gulped and swiftly turned to leave the bathroom, heading back towards your front door.

You should not have let him in.

You can’t let him in _again_.

You could hear him following you and when his hand found the small of your back, then your hip, you resolved and gave in. For just a single second, you fell back into it.

Back into Steve. Back into each other.

“No.” You pushed against him, creating space. 

Like the space he created for so long.

“Steve, we’ve done this already. I can’t. It’s not fair to you or me.” You were being polite. You didn’t give a damn about how he felt when he had made it so clear you couldn’t be his priority.

“No, sweetheart, please.” That was when you heard it - another crack in his facade. His voice trembled. His confidence faltered. “I can’t do it without you anymore. If I could go back..” 

“It’s taken Bucky nearly dying for you to realize what you did here?”

_What we did here._

You immediately raised your hand and scrubbed it down your jaw. “What we did. This was so good, Stevie. So good. But you can-

“It’s you.” His chest seemed to deflate as his resolve broke down once more. “At the top of my list. It should have always been you.” There was a heavy pause. “Nothing else -

His breath hitched.

“No one else could -

Now, it was your resolve breaking. Hadn’t this been the moment you dreamed of? Before all those fights and stupid arguments? You wanted to be a priority - the way you felt you would drop everything for him. You needed proof of that - it’s all you wanted for so long. 

But for the first time in a long time, it was your Steve in front of you. Not Captain America.

“Steve,” your voice was barely audible as the tears welled behind your eyes. “I have been aching for so long.” You clutched at your chest, at your heart.

You looked up at Steve, at your heart.

“I’m stepping back. Consulting work only.. Retiring, I guess. I’m gonna give the shield over to Sam.. I just..”

He met your eyes. You just listened.

He said your name, slowly. “I want… us again. I got it wrong, before. Please, open your eyes.”

You could feel the tears welling up and you did as he requested, meeting his blue eyes. In an instant, you felt better yet... “Steve. I can’t.. You can’t… break my heart anymore. I can’t take it. I can’t.”

Steve took a step forward, hesitantly reaching a hand out to lay on top of the one that rested on your chest. “I want this. I want you. Please.” He repeated your name like a quiet mantra. “It’s been you.. It’s always been you. All along.” He took a long breath, holding back his own tears. “I’m just remorseful it took Bucky to remind me. If this is my last chance, I want it. I’ll take it. I want you. I want this. I want us. Please.”

Your head shook so slightly, a breathy sob whispering out his name. 

“Steve.”

“I won’t hurt you anymore.”

“You can’t, please. I won’t be able to..”

“I won’t, love. I promise.”

“This is the last time I let you in.” You didn’t realize Steve had wrapped you in his arms, cradling your head against his chest. “Just you and me.”

“Just you and me.”


End file.
